Tutoring, Courtesy Hawke
by irrie
Summary: F!Hawke/Fenris. "Oh, I'd love to show that boy how to be happy. I'm just not quite sure how." [rating for sexytimes]


_Tutoring, Courtesy Hawke._

Fenris showed up right on time. Not a second late, nor a second early. The elf was punctual, I'll give him that. I suppose a life as a slave provided him with no wiggle room when it came to time management. Ah, I made myself sad.

As one who heralds from Ferelden, I am no stranger to hardship. The Blight tore my country apart. I hear there was a near civil war to top it off, until out of nowhere, the bright and shining Hero of Ferelden came to unite them and overthrow the traitors. Grey Warden to the rescue! I had often heard stories about them in my days as a carefree child, toddling about the dusty streets of Lothering. My father told us about the time he met the Warden who called himself Duncan. He had been just passing through, but as a boy my father was taken by his grandiose appearance and looked up to him, even in the brief time he spent there. My father told us kids (us being Bethany, Carver, may they rest in peace, and I) that he had even gone so far as to ask Duncan to make him a Grey Warden like himself. The man had told him no, that the Wardens were no place for a young man with such a bright future as my father's.

I suppose, even though he died, my father's future had been bright. He met my mother and that ended up in us kids, which ended up in stories of the Wardens. I thought to Duncan and where he would be now. I heard from the gossip amongst Hightown that only two Grey Wardens were left in Ferelden, one being the Hero and the other being the bastard prince who abandoned his crown for the sake of an elf and his life as a Warden. Most of the nobles in Hightown thought this to be most alarming and maddening, as I am sure most of them would have grabbed power the moment they set eyes on it, but I found it to be quite a heartwarming story. The prince gave up what he could have had, what was rightfully his, to keep his one true beloved and to protect his country in the days to come. Honestly, it's what I would have done. Being a hero is great and all that, but the tedious business of leadership was just not for people like myself and this prince. I like to believe that we are alike in this way.

In any case, I assume Duncan's dead. Back to Fenris.

Ah, this goddamn elf. I don't know how to act around him. I usually get so annoyed with the quiet, broody types, but he fascinates me. I've never been an entirely easy person to get along with, and despite our scuffles, he still sticks around. I can't tell if he has nowhere to go or if he's just attached to me. I like to think it is the latter.

In him I see an incredibly naïve boy, eager to explore the world that he can no longer recall. I also see a great vengeful beast, quick to anger and judge. But between all of these layers of him, I see passion. He is who he is, and he carries a shattering past everywhere he goes, but he is determined to pick up what intact pieces of his life he has left and build something new on it. He has burning desire for anything that he sets his mind to...

…except, perhaps, reading. He can't read. He never needed to, nor cared enough to learn. That is, until I gave him a book, which he seemed grateful for, but also extremely confused about. I later learned that he couldn't read, so naturally, I offered to teach him.

I'm a horrible teacher. Let me just get that out right now. I'm the impatient sort. I have a hard time wrapping my brain around the concept of other people not understanding what I see clearly as day. I try so hard to be patient with him because I know he is trying and he wants to learn…he just doesn't understand it. So far we've gotten the alphabet down, but putting sounds and letters together had proved to be a challenge, not to mention all of the strange spellings that come with speaking the common tongue. I swear, for being such a common language, it is by far the most ridiculous. 'Why is there a 'p' in that word if you don't say it?' Shit, I don't know. It's just spelled that way. I'm all for fucking the system but I'd rather not fuck with _that_ system, if you know what I mean.

Sometimes we both get bored with the teaching and learning (or attempts at) and so we settle down for a drink. I know it's probably a bad thing, but I might have to admit to liking drunk Fenris over sober (broody, quiet) Fenris. He's a lot easier to talk to when he's not intent on hating everything around him.

Oh, I'd love to show that boy how to be happy. I'm just not quite sure how.

It's been a few months. I've tried telling Fenris its okay to be late every once in awhile, or that he could even come over early just to have a sip before we get started if he has the time. But no, I'm always answered with the same line:

"I just enjoy being precise, as you know."

Great Maker, may you grant me patience with the tutoring of this damn fine elven specimen. I just might do something to him one day.

He shows up at my doorstep and begins his double-knock. I know he's there, so I open the door before he can get to his second knock. He looks up at me, smiles and I allow him in. Something within me squirms because he never smiles and holy shit his smile is actually beautiful can he do that more often? That's the thing with sad people – they never realize how beautiful they really are. It's infuriating.

He's gotten quite a bit better at this whole reading deal, so I've decided I might spice things up a bit today. Throw him a bit of a different dagger, I suppose. Should be fun.

I take out the raunchiest, most slutty book that has ever graced the library shelves of the Hawke household and hand it to him before sitting down across from him. I pretend to look uninterested as he decodes the title.

"_Diving Deep_?" he reads aloud, his tone questioning, "What's this?"

"Ah, just something new for today. We've been doing a lot of spelling studies and I thought it might be fun to try reading a snippet or two." I reach across the table to turn the book to the page I have marked with a small cloth.

"Alright, I might as well try," he states, looking to me for approval. I nod, trying not to let my inner self grin in delight.

This book was going to sound simply delicious in that deep voice of his.

He clears his throat before beginning, squinting at the parchment as if to challenge it. If I didn't know what he would be reading, I would have found it cute.

"She slipped her fingers around his hard co- _**VENHEDIS HAWKE!**_" he shouts suddenly, slamming the book down on the table. I had been hoping he would get a little bit further before this expected outburst, but I suppose it was to be expected all the same. I can no longer contain my laughter, and it falls out of me in great bursts as I curl up in my chair and try to hide my face behind my legs. I can see him glaring at me, but blushing profusely all the same. He runs his hands through his hair and then rests his face in them.

"_Festis bei umo canavarum_," he mutters into his hands before dropping them down to the table and leaning back in the chair. I recovered slightly from my giggle-fits. What did he say?

"What?"

"It means, 'you will be the death of me'," he translates with a sigh.

"Oh, but what a sweet death that would be," I say in response, licking my lips and leaning over the table, inching my face closer to his. I love breaking his cool, broody façade. It feels like a triumph every time I manage to make him blush.

Oh, but he always manages to surprise me. He leans forward to meet me in a brief kiss, before turning to walk up the stairs. My plan is now moving in hyper-speed. He was supposed to stay in his chair a bit longer, perhaps even read a few more lines if he was feeling really naughty, but no, he walks straight up the stairs. How straightforward of him. Punctual.

Of course, I have no choice but to follow him.

I walk into my room and am a bit confused at first because I can't see him anywhere, but in that instant I am once more dazzled by him. He closes the door, leaving us in pitch darkness. I assume this is how he wants it, so I will not protest. He shoves me against the wall, a trick I like to believe I taught him that first time we "did it". For the next few seconds I am completely gone, my mind unable to compute as the sheer electricity of his mouth against mine numbs my awareness. I swear, he is a drug. His hands are around my head and neck, his fingers entangled in my short hair, but I am most aware of his body pressing against me, the warmth of it all threatening to melt me. We experiment a bit with jabs of the tongue, tasting each other shamelessly. I begin to roll my hips against him and he responds accordingly, grinding back against me. I slip out from under him (there are perks to being the smaller one in this sort of relationship) and pull him over to the bed, which I have now begun to be able to make out despite the lack of light. I am pulling his shirt off to reveal his finely chiseled chest before he can say otherwise, though he quickly reacts, removing mine shoulder by shoulder.

One of my favourite things about making love to Fenris is how natural he is. He isn't overconfident or overpowering. He isn't awkward. He doesn't grope. He just loves in whatever way he knows how. I will never complain.

Eventually, we are each free from the burdens of clothing and once again at each other. Though this, however, is slow. It is calm. He kisses me under the arms, on the backs of my legs, behind my ears, on my nose, before finally making it to my lips. His lips have a certain texture to them that I am not sure I can describe. They are rough from years of battling nature through his travels, but they move in mostly soft and kind ways against mine: a perfect fit. I suppose that is cliché to say, but I believe it. (And I suppose that, too, is cliché.)

I am running my fingers along his arms and straddling his waist. I nip at his neck, avoiding the tattoos carefully. They glow a dim blue light, a telltale sign of his _totally getting off on this_. Though, I suppose every time we go through these acts, he feels a streak of masochism. I know the lyrium burns him, but I also know he doesn't want to stop. And so I won't.

After leaving my mark clearly on his neck, I pepper kisses down the center of his chest until reaching his length. I pepper kisses down that too, making him shiver. Slowly, I lick the head, then work my way down his shaft until he is gripping the sheets.

"Destry, please…"

He's using my first name – so, he's really desperate. I give in, indulging him. I let him fill my mouth, though I can't take it all. I allow my hands to do the rest of the work, pumping him until he is twitching with the effort to not force feed me his entire cock. So gentle. I truly admire his self-control.

He knows it's his turn, and so he pulls me up and lays me down, burrowing his face between my legs, which clench instinctively. He draws lazy circles on the insides of my thighs with his thumbs as he licks at me, sending goosebumps through my entire body. By the fucking gods, I am so sick of being teased. If he doesn't…_ohshitholyshitfuckyes_. Fenris plunges in with his tongue, then pulls back out and sucks at me. I try extremely hard to keep my legs under control, but he ends up having to hold them down anyways, probably for self defense. His hands are gripping me and he is pulling at all of my strings, like some sick puppetmaster.

I can't take this anymore. I need everything. Now. What can I say, I'm demanding.

"Fenris, I can't wait forever. Now. Please."

"As you command," he rumbled, low voice even thicker with anticipation.

And suddenly, he's everywhere. I'm starstruck, really. I…wow. He slips in and out of me slowly at first, easing into it. I am on my back and in a daze, rolling my hips in tandem with his thrusts as they quicken. All the foreplay, while enjoyable, has left me with little to no fight in me. He whispers unknown curses in Tevinter and burrows his head into the crook of my neck, kissing me. His hands flutter over my breasts and he thumbs my hard nipples. I slowly wrap my arms around him, beginning with lightly scratching his back. In no time, however, my nails are digging into him. His thrusts are coming faster and I am really not going to hold out for much longer –

"FUCKING SHIT I…I..." I struggle to get out.

"_Venhedis_," he growls into my neck, releasing himself into me. Ha ha, he'll never let me come last, will he? He shudders and rolls over to my side, careful to not crush me. He still treats me like a porcelain doll, despite all I've proved while fighting at his side. I suppose it helps him feel purpose: he must protect his precious Hawke, right? I could be wrong, but I don't think I am. Anyways, I'm thoroughly exhausted, but incredibly satisfied.

"I take it that was what you wanted?" he breathes lightly.

"I suppose it was the plan," I answer.

I turn to face him. His eyes are closed and his breathing has slowed. I place a hand over his heart and kiss his nose before entwining my legs in his and dozing off.

I enjoy our adventures; they're thrilling and exciting. But both of us have lost so much. Sometimes I will think about my mother, brother, and sister, and not leave my house for a week. Fenris gives me space, which is nice. I am touchy when I go through those moods. However, towards the end of the week he will show up with vintage wines and talk about his life with the Fog Warriors. I know it pains him, but there is something comforting about drinks with a loved one whilst sharing your sorrows.

I do want to go back to Ferelden. I just don't know how or when. I am afraid he will not want to come along with me and that I will be truly alone and have to start all over again in my homeland. I will plead to the Maker that that is not the case.

Until the time comes to make the final decision, I will love Fenris every chance I get. It is the least we both deserve.

* * *

A/N: Wowowow Laney writes smut I'm so sorry I'm going to run and hide now don't look at me I'm embarassed..


End file.
